An Unfinished Chapter
by trufflemores
Summary: Pre-1.01-present. Prompt: "How cuddly is Westallen?"


**Author's Notes** : Hello, everyone. I wrote this - I wouldn't call it a fic, precisely, but maybe a narrative essay, over on Tumblr. I enjoyed it so much I felt like posting it here. It can be read *like* a fic, but you'll see what I mean in that it is not a fic like any other I have written (just as my letter pieces are very different from my more typical prose works).

Regardless, I hope you enjoy this journey from Kid Westallen to present day WestAllen.

* * *

When they were kids, they liked to hold hands.

It starts when they're very young, about eight years old. Their second grade class goes to the zoo and Iris takes her "buddy's" sleeve in her hand, uncharacteristically shy around the new kid. She notices his ears turn bright red but he doesn't pull his sleeve back and tell her off for having cooties. He talks a lot, his ears staying that bright red, but she keeps up with him, adding her own comments about her favorite animals. They're back on the bus before she realizes she still has his sleeve in her hand. She lets it go, but they still sit in the same seat and find plenty to talk about on the drive back.

She likes to hang out with him at recess, likes to sit on the opposite side of a seesaw with him, chatting about projects and assignments and _dreams_. He says he wants to be an astronaut because space is cool; she wants to be a cop like her daddy and his daddy before him, carrying on the tradition of saving the world. He thinks that sounds fun, saving the world, and Iris asks if he'll ever come back once he's an astronaut. He tells her he would come back for her, if she wanted him to. She wants him to. She invites him to her dad's house, and they make one of Grandma Esther's famous dishes, and suddenly it's just like Barry's always been there. They don't touch a lot, but every time she wants to show him something she takes his sleeve and he follows her to their next adventure.

Then, at age nine, the dance recital rolls around. Iris is mortified that she's freezing up _now_ , but then her buddy, her Barry clambers up on stage with her like he's supposed to, and he's not but she just lets him take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly, _everything's going to be okay_ in those big hopeful eyes, like he can bring her to his better world where everyone loves her dance. She believes in it, believes in _him,_ and it's more fun with him. It's a lot more fun. After, they hold hands and take a bow together. Because that's what you do when your best friend – and she is starting to realize he _is_ her best friend – dances in front of a hundred people with you.

She finds out that he likes hugs, which is nice because she _loves_ hugs. He means his hugs, too, holding her good and tight, not enough to hurt but enough to let her know that he's there, he's not just doing it to make her happy, it makes _him_ happy, and that makes her happy, too, a nice little cycle. He only hugs her at their houses, first, still shy at school even though he'll sit right next to her on the ground, listening to her and nodding along like he's really listening, and she thinks he really _is_.

Then they're in fourth grade and her stomach is tight when she sees a few bigger kids crowding this girl on the swings. She tells them to back off and the biggest one tells her to make them. She can't, there's three of them, she's not a coward but she's not stupid, either, and she's about to call a teacher when Barry says that they're bullies, big dumb cowardly _bullies_ , and takes off like a shot when the biggest one bolts after him. Iris has to bolt, too, or risk getting her own comeuppance, and she doesn't meet up with Barry again until the bell has rung and they're back inside. He's shaking a little, still panting, but there's a grin on his face that says it's okay and she wants to shake him, Barry-you-can't-do-that, and finds herself hugging him tightly instead.

It doesn't always go so well. They don't exactly seek it out, but sometimes bad news finds them. One day they're hanging out on the playground after school because Barry likes to kick around a soccer ball with her while they wait for her dad to get off his shift and take them home so they can hang out together. They're just sitting on the swings, taking a break, when someone shoves Iris hard from behind and she loses her seat. Barry's on the kid _fast_ , he has a funny way of running most times but when he bolts he bolts, and Iris is dazed, sitting up and turning to help, but it's already over.

Barry's holding his stomach and grimacing, but he's not crying, which surprises her because Barry cried when their butterfly didn't come out of its chrysalis and when Iris gave him a handmade card for Christmas, Barry cries at a lot of things but he doesn't cry even though he holds shaking hands to his stomach and just stands there, white-faced and looking for a moment scared.

But he promises he's okay, he's okay, and she has to believe him even though she tells her daddy when he picks them up because she has to, and Barry gets kind of angry about it, refusing to talk about it. He says it was fine, he didn't get hurt even though Iris knows he did, he must have, but he never shows them the bruise and she has to take his word at face value because he's going to stop talking altogether if she pushes him too hard. She lets him pick the movie and rests her head on his shoulder. He takes her hand and just holds it for a long time.

Sometimes it's better – sometimes there's that wild joy, that relief shining from his eyes because he outran them, they couldn't touch him, _I'm too fast_ with a twinkle in his eye – but sometimes it's worse, like the time he gets a cut lip and spends a few minutes just sitting in the side-hall with his back to her, sniffing like he's trying very hard not to cry, and later he'll tell the teacher he fell down because he doesn't want to talk about it, he never wants to talk about it, like he should have been able to outrun them and he deserved the punch, but she knows better, and she sits right behind him, back to his, and can feel every tremor.

She starts to feel pretty protective of him, starts to feel pretty _angry_ with the people who chase him down, and she tells him to talk to the teachers but he doesn't _want_ to, he gets pretty annoyed about it, and she doesn't like him much when he's angry because he gets quieter and quieter until he explodes, yelling about how he's _fine!_

She gives him space after that. Tail tucked between his legs, he returns to her a couple days later, apologizing for yelling, for getting mad, for being upset at _her_ , he wasn't upset at _her_ , and she sees the tears in his eyes and finally steps forward and hugs him without a word.

By middle school, things get better, and she finds she really likes her writing classes, and he's super into science, like, _really_ into science, she has no idea what he's talking about most of the time but she still listens attentively because he listens to _her_ attentively and she's pretty sure he has no idea what a Pulitzer is, but it sounds cool and she likes it. She still wants to be a cop, and he still wants to be an astronaut, but they're also listening closely and absorbing other interests. He kind of disappears a little, absorbed in his own world, and she finds herself making other friends so she doesn't miss him when he's not there, and then Tony Woodward happens.

He's a jerk from the get-go. Iris doesn't know what about Barry sets him off, but they're walking down the hall one day when this big eighth grader comes over and clips Barry's shoulder so hard he hits the locker. He doesn't explain it, doesn't even stop walking, and Iris dares to think it's an accident, the first time, as she helps Barry up, and he's holding his own shoulder and looking close to tears so she asks him about those frogs he was talking about, because he likes frogs and it's hard to cry when you're talking about frogs.

Tony leaves them alone and things are _good_ for a time, and then Barry's dad kills Barry's mom one night and everything is red and blue police lights and a headline screaming at her: "RESPECTED DOCTOR MURDERS WIFE." It's so horrible she's still reeling, still _processing_ , when her dad picks her up and explains in an all-too-brief drive to the police station that things are complicated and Barry needs a place to stay right now. She immediately asks if he can stay with them, and her dad tells her that's the plan, and they arrive at the police station and she feels a little overwhelmed, officers trying to talk to her dad but he just turns them away, not-now, not-now. They find Barry huddled on the floor in the captain's office, sitting in her dad's coat, knees hugged to his chest. He isn't crying, which Iris thinks is somehow worse than if they found him in tears, because he looks so hurt she thinks he needs to cry but _can't_.

That night, after they've gotten everything sorted, Barry's room set up and Barry's things picked up from his off-limits house, Iris is lying in bed wide awake well after midnight when she hears a soft sniffling sound. She pads carefully down the hall, avoiding the creaky places because her dad is asleep and she doesn't need him, but Barry needs _her_ , and she gets downstairs without a sound because he's sitting on the couch, hunched over and shaking hard but not crying, just hugging himself like he's going to be sick.

She sits next to him, unsure what to say or do or whether she should get her dad, after all, because this is so much bigger than a playground bully, this is so much worse than any punch or kick, this is a pain that isn't going to heal over, and then he tips slowly onto his side, his head on her lap, and she rests a hand on his hair and just lets him stay. He cries and she doesn't talk to him, but he doesn't find someplace else even though she doesn't have the words, and she thinks maybe it's what he needs, to just fall apart somewhere safe.

She's there for him a lot. She's there for him even though he gets mad sometimes and yells at her dad because he wants to see _his_ dad. He tells her desperately, over and over, that his dad is innocent, he _knows_ he's innocent, and she believes him, believes those big trusting eyes, the golden fiber of innocence that holds up even as Barry's world falls apart around him.

Tony gets worse, throwing in a jibe about his imprisoned dad with every casual cruelty, a kick here, a shove there, and Barry's tears are furious as he surges back to his feet and Tony just shoves him back down a second time before he can get any leverage, laughing. Iris feels pretty helpless, close to _ashamed_ that she didn't react faster, somehow, that she didn't see it coming, that she didn't protect him, but he's not mad at her, even though she's a little mad at herself. Eventually Tony gets himself caught, but not before inflicting a lot of bruises.

And it's _still_ not the end of bullies because Barry takes on other people's battles, drawing away their bullies just so he can run until he runs out of steam and they kick him until he's got a black eye. Iris tells him he can't save _everybody_ and he just firms his jaw and tells her that he's not going to stop _trying_.

Middle school bleeds into high school and Tony is back at it again, but he's more careful, and Barry doesn't tell her about any of it, so she can only speculate when he comes in limping to their shared class with a shiner he won't talk about. She gets a moment, a fantastic moment, when Tony approaches her unexpectedly one morning, brawny in ways Barry won't ever be, and it makes her sick to think of him punching Barry because he could just _break_ Barry, and he leans on her locker and smiles at her like he's hot stuff, asking her if she has plans that night, and she smiles sweetly at him and tells him to go fuck himself. Barry's definitely in earshot, and she sees his pleased little smile, just a small thing, a barely there thing because he never smiles around Tony, and she aches to wrap him up in her arms protectively even as the bell rings and Tony stalks off.

Barry gets a lot more secretive in high school. He joins clubs she has no interest in and pours his energy into them, drifting away from her. Iris focuses on her own studies and picks up volleyball to keep herself entertained. She finds a role in the debate club before switching over to student government. A brief love affair with journalism ends when she can't find the time for it all, and she figures it's not relevant anyway, she's not a writer, she's a part-time brownie blogger and an aspiring police officer.

Despite his elusive moods and frankly unreadable thoughts, always guarded, only giving her part of the story, hugging her but hiding from her, Barry still pours a lot of energy into understanding her passions. He reads the articles she recommends to him so thoroughly that he can hold a conversation about them, prowling around her kitchen and picking off the last of the chocolate-covered strawberries, and her dad is going to be _so_ pissed that he finished them off but Barry just smiles wolfishly and how could she hate that smile? It's pretty distracting to watch him eat strawberries, too, because he takes his time with things he loves, and her mind drifts outside of best-friends-forever territory watching him, and she wonders if it's possible to platonically love someone the way she loves Barry.

To distract herself, she _does_ try to find an interest in the science Barry loves, but after three weeks she gives up because everything is drop-dead boring (sitting across the table at lunch, he grins slyly at her when he points out that in light of his forensics' class he's taking it's an oddly appropriate adjective, and she smacks his shoulder, too light to possibly hurt, his grin only widening in response).

He doesn't have much trouble with Tony, not for a while – for some reason Tony just kind of backs off, and she likes to think it's because of her. But the longer the pause lasts, the more she thinks about Tony's inexplicable stand-down. His problem was with Barry – right? That was all there was to it: he didn't like Barry and let Barry know, repeatedly, and Barry snapped back a little, only giving what he was given and never to the same degree, but overall tried to keep the peace. Tony just went after him. The little candle of hopefulness dims when she realizes that Tony went after Barry _to get to her_. Arm-in-arm with Barry, walking down the hall, she was unapproachable. Alone, he dared to walk up to her, to confront _her_ , and he wasn't belligerent – if she didn't know better, she'd almost say his smile was charming. But Barry was near, and she could almost see him tensing, bracing himself, ready to act, but Iris didn't need him to save her.

 _Sometimes a girl's gotta be her own hero_.

It gives her mixed feelings, on top of the already mixed feelings elicited by things like how _good_ a freshly-showered Barry smells, how even though his room is saturated with testosterone it doesn't keep her from spending more time in his space than her own. They still cuddle on the couch for movie night, but they don't sleep in the same bed, ever – they have to keep their distance, now, because every time she touches him for more than a second the contact seems warmer than usual, more provocative, more enticing, and she gets the irrational urge with her hand on his side to slide it up under his shirt, to rest it directly on his chest, but he shuffles a little and she wakes up, getting up and telling him that she's going to bake. He looks up at her, sleepy affectionate, eyes clear but entire posture radiating warm contentment. "Okay," he says neutrally, and she really wants to push it, then, wants to card her fingers through his perpetually mussed-up hair, why is _that_ appealing now, tilt his jaw up a little and kiss him–

She breaks away from him without touching him, and her dad _definitely_ side-eyes Barry more and Barry keeps his hands to himself more. The way his ears flush red around her, she can't suppress the little fluttery side of her that entertains the idea of him watching _her_ the way she dares to look at him.

Just when she thinks she can live with their tense but not unbearable dynamic, a kind of tension that aches sweetly, that makes her crave his company when he's gone and settle more firmly into his embrace when he's around, tucking her hands around his hips and holding onto him for approximately ever, Becky Cooper walks into her life.

Technically, she walks into Barry's, and Barry's secrecy gets dialed up to eleven. He doesn't tell Iris _anything_ , and it infuriates her a little bit, because she wants to be clued in, she wants to know what they're up against, but they're not up against anything because she's not included. It's between Barry and Becky. Barry and Becky. She scrunches up her nose just thinking about it; it's almost unbearably cheesy. It doesn't help that Becky literally ignores her, casually walking up to Barry when she is _right there_ , Iris is commiserating with him about classwork, but then Becky's there and Becky's got a hand on his left arm, trailing up it as she smiles and tells him that they're still on for tonight, yeah? And Barry bites his lip, nods evasively, doesn't mention it to Iris, and Becky just leans up to kiss him, and Iris' frustration knows no bounds.

She pushes him away, pushes him _hard_ , refusing to talk to him, and he gets more and more evasive, snapping over little things and going at it with her dad over dinner, until he's literally just walking out on them for days at a time, and she really hates to think of him living with Becky, with Becky's family, somehow finding comfort there. They make it an entire year, almost to the very end of senior year, before things start to fall apart.

Iris shouldn't be happy that they fall apart, and she can't honestly say she is, because it's pretty catastrophic. One morning Barry's at his locker, and he's so tense she thinks he might spontaneously snap in half, and then Becky walks up to him and he tells her something in a low voice and she replies loudly enough that Iris can hear, "You gonna murder me like your daddy?"

He is so still she doesn't think he's breathing at all. Becky puts a hand on his arm, tracing it down his forearm, sickeningly provocative when he's just _standing_ there, like there isn't a word in the English language to describe how he's feeling, and Iris doesn't know how she ends up beside them, and Becky's long gone and Barry looks like there's no air in his lungs at all, like he's having a panic attack, ghost-white and shaking, and she says, "Come with me" and finds them an empty classroom and sits on the floor with him as he falls apart against her.

They don't make it to any of their classes, but Iris doesn't care. She wants to kill Becky, but she doesn't want to leave Barry, at all, ever again, holding onto him like she can protect him, and like this she can pretend she can, and she holds him like she's wanted to for months. They go out for ice cream because there's still a bad vibe at home, the energy between her dad and Barry hasn't dissipated at all, still at critical mass, and she wants to tell him to come home with her anyway but holds back. To her surprise, he asks if he can, and she says of course, because _of course_ , that has never changed, and her dad is home, now, but he takes one look at them and sighs. He holds out his arm and Barry lets go of Iris so he can hug her dad, and things slowly settle out again.

College brings out the light in Barry's eyes again. He's excited to show Iris his new dorm, his new campus, his new _everything_ , and she realizes it's the end of a long chapter of their life together and hugs him all the tighter and longer for it, trying not to be selfish, _don't hold him back_ , as she finally lets him go.

He Skypes her so often she teases him that she can't miss him if he's always there, and he blushes and promises to reduce his call time to twice a week, max, and she tells him it doesn't matter, she doesn't need to miss him, and kind of lives for his little happy smile at that. There's still – something, between them, but she doesn't know what it is and can't pursue it anyway because he's six hours away.

It's good for him, distance from the things that brought out the worst in him, the most devastating moments, surrounded instead by people who have no understanding of his history. He seems lighter, _happier_ , and she tries not to feel sad that she couldn't make him this light and happy because it wasn't her fault, it was the things around them. She wants to be happy for him, so she tries to be happy by herself. She focuses on her career, on the police academy, and then her pursuit of happiness hits a hard roadblock.

Her dad flat-out refuses to let her go to police academy. At first, she's thrown, but not deterred; of course he's protective, he's always been protective of her, and she understands it in light of Barry but _Dad_ , this is my _dream_ , and he doesn't budge an inch. Time passes, tension rises, but he doesn't relent. He cold-shoulders her for _months,_ through holidays, and it hurts like hell. She has friends, she enjoys college, but God if it doesn't make her so homesick it hurts.

So she does the only thing she can think of without surrendering: she calls Barry late on a Thursday night to see if she can see him after classes on Friday, and he says in sleepy surprise, "You okay?" and she doesn't have the heart to tell him over the phone that she's _not_. It's a long drive and she wishes it was twice as long, because the second she arrives on the campus she's already shaking, already starting to fall apart, and he lets her into his dorm, a frown already between his brows, and they're in his room and he turns around to ask, "Iris?" and she says, "My dad–" and starts sobbing.

He's anxious, of course he's anxious, hands trembling on her back as he asks what happened. She crushes his _Star Wars_ shirt in her hands and sobs into his chest, and feels him guide her into the room carefully, sit her on the bed carefully, fish his phone out of a pocket carefully, check it for messages carefully, and then she feels some unspoken tension leak out of his shoulders even as she holds onto him. She feels bad because he's thinking worst-case-scenario and she's sobbing over – over _nothing_ , literally. That's the problem.

Barry makes a couple quick texts, one arm around her back, before he puts his phone aside and hauls her fully into his embrace, onto his lap, and she can't remember the last time she was this close to him but _God_ she needs to be this close to him, needs to feel him, warm and solid against her, real and breathing and caring for her with every heartbeat, every breath. He exhales deeply, back against the wall, and assures her, over and over, "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

She's exhausted, wrung out when the tears finally stop coming, and he doesn't stand, doesn't urge them both up and out the door, let's-go-back-to-where-we-were. He shuffles a little and she somehow knows he's not pushing her away, so she stands to give him room and he just lies on his side and holds out an arm to her, and she's never felt so relieved in her life as she lies down next to him, takes his arm, and tucks it behind her neck, resting her forehead under his chin.

She wants _this_ , wants it so badly she can't think about leaving or she'll start crying again, and she doesn't want to cry anymore, not when she finally has this, his warm breath more tangible than ever against her, deep and steady, even and good, exactly what she needs. He's not particularly muscular, not hard-edged, lean and long, a leg over both of hers that she doesn't remember him putting there. She lets him hold her close, lets her breathing fall into sync with his, and holds onto the moment until sleep hauls her down.

They eat a late dinner in the dining hall and she offers a much more coherent version of the tale as he nods along and wolfs down questionably edible food like it's awesome. Her own appetite is strong enough to forgive the generally lackluster taste, and she has to agree that in the circumstances, just being almost a little too close to Barry at their tiny table in a crowded dining hall, it _is_ pretty awesome.

She spends the weekend with him as planned and he even asks if she wants to stay Monday, he can work around his classes, but she shakes her head because she has to do this, for her, has to go back, to face the future. It won't move forward without her, and as much as she wants time to stand still and to stay with him here, she's too restless to accept defeat. She hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek in gratitude. She can feel the heat of his blush and he ducks his head a little in a way that is pure _bashful_ , and she actually has to resist the urge to kiss him because he's Barry, her Barry, and it'll pass when she's clear-headed, and so it kind of does.

The long drive back brings with it dread and level-headedness, ready to fight again, and Barry stays on the phone with her too late for an eight AM'er but he doesn't complain about the hour, just says around a deep yawn, "I like talking to you."

Knowing she has his support gets her through the next few days, few weeks, few _months_ as the reality of concession sinks in. She can either fight to the bitter end, or she can look elsewhere, and ultimately her love of family overrides her ambition, and Barry never becomes an astronaut, and she never becomes a cop.

She _does_ wonder where his sudden fascination with the morbid came from, worries a little about how _bright_ his smiles are, talking about things that most people avoid at all costs, like he's onto something really, really important and won't tell her what. She wants to take him by the shoulders and gently shake him because Barry, Barry, Barry, what are you doing? She refrains – has to, when they're this far apart – and trusts that he knows what he's up to. He seems to love it.

And he tells her to check out the journalism program. She huffs at that, be real, Barry, she's not going to spend her life with a microphone in her hand or seated behind a blue screen. She wants to _do_ things, to actually help people – journalism? But he tells her it _does_ help people, it inspires people, and the way he talks about it makes her see it, too, how she can use it as an active medium to shape the world, _you can change the world, Iris West._

How could she do anything less, with his support?

She still plays around, indecisive but gravitating more towards journalism, especially when she stays up late with her brownie blog, and she'd think it was kind of silly but blogging was trendy, now, even Barry had a blog. He listed off dozens – _hundreds_ – of articles relating to "supernatural events." She asked him if he was looking for Bigfoot. He laughed and told her that he was looking at real cases, real evidence, real events that simply needed better solutions. It still sounded a little Sasquatch for her tastes, but, hey, he'd never made her feel bad for her brownie blog, so she let him live. If he wants to run a Bigfoot fanblog, that's his prerogative.

She still thinks there's something she's _missing_ , especially when he finally admits that he wants to be a crime scene investigator. "You want to work with dead bodies?" she asks, unable to help herself.

"I want to help people," he rewords stubbornly.

It's awful having these conversations over the phone, because she really wants to squeeze his hand reassuringly, tell him that hey, she doesn't have to fully understand it for it to be a great fit for him, but he audibly relaxes when she offers her support.

They find time for the silly things, the _good_ things – for bowling nights, for family movie nights on holiday breaks – and Iris realizes that the book isn't over, even though the first chapter is behind them. They're still in touch, and she can even dare to hope that they'll always be in touch. He'll always be around. She makes sure to take advantage of every second of contact she gets, hugging him and even sitting on his lap instead of the chair because it's there and, well, he certainly isn't complaining as he drapes his arms around her and squeezes gently.

She playfully pushes the limits, pinching his hip lightly, smoothing a hand down his side, ruffling his hair (she has to lean up on tiptoe to do it, but to her surprise he bows his head for her), basking in her ability to touch him and put that little smile on his face. He kisses her temple; slots his arms around her waist and just rocks them slowly, like dancing, _swaying_ , she teases lightly, and he repeats it with a smile; falls asleep with her more than once entangled in his arms. She doesn't know what it means, doesn't care what it means as long as it doesn't end, but eventually college is behind them, and a whole new world is open.

Their careers both take precedence in a way that finally forces that "I miss you" distance Iris teased would never be found in college. They're too busy to even care that they're barely able to see each other, commiserating infrequently at Jitters over coffee just before closing, eyelids low and conversation mostly "work is hard" "mmhm." She's just coherent enough to appreciate that time when she shows up at Barry's apartment and he sleepily beckons her inside, inviting her to join him for a nap that lasts longer than it should but leaves her feeling more rested in weeks.

It's their recharge, their way of communicating things they can't say: physical touch is so important Iris feels sick the longer she goes without seeing him, a week bleeding into two bleeding into three, until she's asking him if she can come over and he tells her _'s fine_ in a sleepy slur that says he took a Nyquil five minutes ago and _might_ still be awake if she leaves in the next two, so she's gone in one and there in time to hear a very sleepy, "c'mn in" and finds him on the couch, flushed with fever and looking at her through eyes that are slits and still finding a smile. "Hey," he rasps.

She smiles back. "Hey yourself." Reaching down, she coaxes an arm around his shoulders, instructing, "Come on." He stands, heavy, slow, but still gentle with her, never putting more weight on her than she can handle, and he's tall and lean in a way she keeps forgetting, but she's able to help him to his room and under the covers before joining him for a nap that's too long. She wakes up briefly hugging his back like a koala, and _anybody_ would call it spooning, but she just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep without thinking that far because it's just Barry.

It's just Barry.

That's her mantra through it all: when she commiserates with him, teases him, loves him as much as she can without ever letting herself fall in love with him. It's just Barry, she thinks, brushing whipped cream from his drink off his face; it's just Barry, she thinks, hugging him from behind and holding on while he rests his hands on top of hers and lets her; it's just Barry, she thinks, when she's sick and tired and he's there, barely there, a dream, really, kissing her forehead and tucking her in the blankets and letting her cuddle up to his chest even when she's sweaty with fever because that's who he is. It's just Barry, and she gets so used to _just Barry_ she almost forgets just Barry is not a constant in the universe, he is not _hers_ without fail.

She is even able to admire Detective Pretty Boy because he _is_ pretty, pretty in a way Barry might be in three years, and she sees him roll his eyes and wants to tell him that he's still pretty, but it feels silly on her tongue so she doesn't say it, because she can't say it. She can tell him anything, even suffer through his romantic escapades without complaint because none of the others last long and none of them are Beckys, but she can't tell him that she doesn't know _how_ she feels about him, other than _it's love_.

Then Barry gets struck by lightning and dies in front of her.

It's a long nine months. It's an exhausting nine months. It's an _unending_ nine months, and she needs physical contact, she _needs_ somebody to love and to love her or emotionally she is going to fall apart because Barry isn't dead but Barry isn't _here_ anymore, either. It's almost worst, because she cannot grieve, and she cannot be hopeful, either, because he might never wake up. He might never be hers again. He might always be this cadaver on a bed, strapped up to machines, alive only by their willpower. She dares to keep him alive, talking to him, insisting on keeping him even when he cannot hear her, she doesn't care, she doesn't _care_ , she'd talk to him for the rest of her life if it meant he'd finally hear her say the words _I love you_ just one more time.

Just to mean it.

But Barry doesn't come back and Eddie is there and in six months she's letting herself be someone other than Barry's. She's letting herself fall for someone kind and thoughtful and _gorgeous_ , and she should and would be nothing but happy if Barry wasn't in a coma, but a part of her heart also knows she would never be here if Barry _hadn't_ fallen in a coma, if Barry's presence in her life was continuous, uninterrupted. She thinks about telling him that he could talk to her about people he wanted to be with the same night he died; she hates that she didn't include herself in that list.

Then Barry wakes up, and shows up to Jitters like something out of a dream, smiling and standing tall and somehow more gorgeous than ever, and she nearly drops her coffeepot as she rushes towards him, his name breathless on her lips as he grins and catches her, hugging her back just as tightly, and she wants to start sobbing but she is so _happy_ she can't express it. He holds onto her, and he's real, he's _real_ , and all of it is so real she almost can't believe it. She fills in the silence breathlessly, asking him questions, and his heart is beating so fast worry creeps back into her chest, a terrible lancing worry that this is a _dream_ , that it's not real at all, that it is one of many shattered illusions waiting to happen. It's a fear reinforced when he goes rigid, all at once, and for a moment seems to seize, head jerking to one side before returning to her, and she asks if he's okay and he promises in a voice that says he's not that he _is_.

But she has to get him to her dad, her dad is going to be _so happy_ to see him, and she thinks that if he stays that long maybe just maybe he'll be real. It's on the walk to the police station, arms linked against, his so warm against her, that she realizes he's _alive_ , and it's all she can do not to take him into an alleyway and kiss him, a senseless impulse begging for release because _you're dating Eddie_ conflicts with _Barry's back_.

The urge dissipates at the station, and she tells herself it's the emotional cocktail making her high. She forces herself to let him go even though she doesn't want to, struggles to watch everyone else hug him without lunging forward and holding onto him hungrily because she can't lose him not again _not again_. Then he runs away, he leaves her, he "needs some air," and she tries to respect his wishes while accepting that if he leaves her sight he won't leave her _world_.

He's jittery, elusive, energetic, _different_ – she aches to ask him more, to take him aside and promise him they're the same, but he sees her with Eddie and closes off, smiles tightly, assures her that he's fine, he's _fine_. She tells herself it's the lightning, tells herself she expected it, but it doesn't make it easier to accept that he's not the same. Another chapter gone. She tries not to ache for it, but change is hard, and even Eddie isn't enough to make the ache go away.

Then she meets The Flash, the breathtaking, ephemeral hero come alive, and she can barely contain her excitement. He's immediately, powerfully engaging, something from a dream, and she wants to ask him everything, to sit on the rooftop with him and ask him absolutely everything that comes to mind until she runs out of questions and they can just sit in silence, savoring each other's company, and it doesn't occur to her that it is exactly how she felt when she first met Barry a lifetime ago.

He's addictive, heady and exuding a confidence that pulls her in magnetically. She drifts closer to him automatically, not to harm or unmask him but simply to be _close_ to him, as close as he will let it. It feels good, _right_ , like she's supposed to fall into his orbit, and she muses that other girls must feel the same way and instead of candidly agreeing he gently lobbies back, "What other girls?"

And that gets her heart racing, makes her dreams take an interesting turn, causes her to wake with guilt in her stomach because she's pining after _The Flash_ when she's with Eddie, Eddie who is sweet and kind and not-Barry, and she enjoys him, and that should be enough, but it's just _not_.

It's a whirlwind. When Barry gets pissy at her for pursuing her blog, her _passion_ , she shunts him back, refusing to be deterred by his protective urges. He's overreacting, and he _loves_ this stuff, and it bothers her on some deep level that he's not talking about it with her, that he's not _interested_ in it, and how could he _not_ be interested in it–

They make tentative amends, but something's still not quite _right_ , and things reach a head when The Flash attacks Eddie.

She pushes him back hard, not fearful but furious, _how could you betray me?_ The anguish in his eyes is visible even from a distance, and she knows it, _knows_ the way he bows his head a little, but she's flushed with hurt, with grief, with _get away from me_ , and she doesn't let herself think on it.

To complicate matters, she finds Barry examining a bulletin board with his mother's case on it, and a _lot_ of Barry's past aloofness becomes clearer. It clicks, suddenly, why he wanted to be a CSI, and her heart breaks for him because it's been _fourteen years_ and his heart hasn't left that room. He's still there.

She has no idea how to respond, and so she leaves him alone and doesn't know what transpires without her, cannot know that he disappears to fight the Reverse Flash, to lose badly to the Reverse Flash, because she won't learn he's _The Flash_ until months later, when everything is on the line.

No, she'll embrace her relationship with Eddie because it's _there_ and Barry and her are too unstable to build a foundation on, there are too many secrets, there's something he's _not telling her_ , and she never dreamed it would be as big as it is. She never dreamed that he was The Flash.

But she did, because The Flash was always about Barry, everything Barry and she could have been if they had started from nothing, if they had crossed paths without all the unknowns between them. The Flash was ultimately her Barry fantasy actualized, and she forgives him faster than she thinks she would if she hadn't fallen so hard for The Flash, because she knows it's true: she loves Barry.

She _loves_ Barry.

But for a time everything is still sharp-edged, and then things get worse, a lot worse, because Eddie dies and Barry disappears, fixing the city and keeping his distance, and Iris is so numb she doesn't know if she needs him or needs the numbness uninterrupted. She lets it exist, overtake her, for months, and then she finds him at Jitters one night and has to work hard not to collapse. It's so hard with him, because he's always been so safe, and now everything between them is a house of cards waiting to topple over.

Slowly, they rebuild, reinforcing the foundation. She finds it in herself to be happy for him when he meets Patty because he was happy for her and Eddie, and she finally understands how much it hurt. She aches for him then and for herself now, resisting the urge to curl up in his space and just be with him like they used to be because that chapter is over, too. It's all ending, and she doesn't know what's next, if there even is a next for _them_ , together.

Then Zoom drags him into the CCPN, bleeding and badly broken, and she can only stare in breathless horror because no no no no _no_.

That's the worst part – losing him. Listening to him scream over the comms, hearing the battles she never fully participated in before play out. She sees Barry, Barry in totality, no-more-secrets, and is struck by just how different he is, how much the lightning changed him. How confident he is, how _strong_ he is, it astounds her what he can do now, seemingly effortlessly.

But it surprises her most when the lightning under his skin just feels like _home_ rather than intrusive, and she realizes this is the chapter he will spend the rest of his life in.

She can leave him as is, leave him and the burdens he bears, the weight of the world crushing his shoulders, or she can accept that it is the next chapter of her life, too, the _life with lightning_.

In the end, it's no choice at all. She could never leave him. He's her Barry. And she's his Iris.

It's somehow even more magical than she could have hoped for, actually dating him – being able to touch him without wondering if she's crossing a line, being able to _kiss_ him whenever she wants. It's overwhelming, how much he reciprocates, how _eagerly_ he reciprocates, like he's been waiting forever, and she finally realizes he has, and in a way, so has she.

And so they don't try to make up for every second, because not every second before was lost. It was part of their story. It was the buildup that gave the now freely given cuddles context, the many many many hugs context, the little gestures of affection – a kiss on the cheek, a thumb brushing over the back of a hand – context. It made the payout huge. This thing that almost-was for so long enriched the experience that now-is.

For her part, Iris _loves_ being able to love Barry, and Barry feels exactly the same way about her.


End file.
